


Later

by quentintarrantino



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quentintarrantino/pseuds/quentintarrantino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond is being called away on a mission that doesn't promise he'll make it back alive, Q is terrible at emotions, and both are awful at goodbyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Later

Q was on a short wire today, Eve saw it in the way his movements had become robotic and his responses curt. He snapped and snarled at the interns and had little pity for anyone who got in his way. She supposed it had something to do with the folder Bond was looking at in M’s office, the way the 00s were all gearing up for a group mission in a country torn apart by war and corruption. How just last month they had lost an agent who had been the best of the best and now they were sending more in to finish his work.

Eve was about the only person who knew about the nature of their involvement, Q’s own employees who saw him day in and day out didn’t suspect a thing and at the rate 007 and the Quartermaster bickered they would probably never guess it in the next hundred years. However once you spotted it you couldn’t miss it, James hardly flirted now and whenever Q passed gear off to him their hands lingered a fraction of a second more than normal. It didn’t break rules but it was heavily frowned upon, and they did nothing to break the status quo.

When there were group missions like this it wasn’t uncommon for the whole of Q branch to turn up to hand their gear out, lining the 00s up to pass it to their owners and then send them on their way. Eve would be joining to assist M in the overseeing as this would be the first one under his ruling and it was important to get the swing of it. The meeting would be this afternoon and at the moment the agents were being called in one by one and briefed, Q looked like there wasn’t an ounce of blood in his body.

Eve had never seen the Quatermaster look shaken, not when he was testing equipment or talking to a felled agent in the field as they waited for a medical evacuation. All perfectly good times to be shaken, he didn’t seem the least bothered and sometimes even acted a bit put-out but now with the threat of Bond being shoved into a situation he didn’t know how to wiggle his way out of Q seemed to be at a loss for words and so he filled the silences with cranky berating on his poor staff.

“You call this coffee?!” the latest jab echoed through the halls. “My grandmother can do better and _she is dead_! Why did they hire you?! You’re a bloody waste of deskspace is what you are!” the poor man he was yelling at was probably double his age but looked like he was fearing for his life.

The door to M’s office opened and Eve looked up from her desk to spot Bond exiting, readjusting his jacket with a file under his arm, looking tired already and it was only eleven. “Good thing you left when you did he’s on the warpath.” The secretary sighed, motioning to the cluster of desks where Q was stewing, sipping his coffee with a pinched up look on his face.

007’s eyes softened in affection when he looked at the other man but his jaw set in irritation. “That’s nothing you should’ve seen him this morning. I thought he was going to set the kitchen on fire.” He responded, walking down the steps, his shoes making clacking noises.

Eve watched his progress as Q perked to attention and his posture grew more rigid as Bond approached. She wondered if it was hard for them to hold back touching or speaking in the way lovers did, if it was difficult for 007 not to comfort his bedmate in his time of need and reassure him. Were they even affectionate? The thought of Q giving anyone the time of day was alien to her but she supposed maybe even he let his guard down in the privacy of his own home.

Bond’s eyes trailed over the metaphorical ruin that was his counterpart’s employees’ peace of mind and huffed slightly propping himself up on the desk and looking at the drained face of the Quartermaster. “Are you going to leave them alone for at least three minutes? I think they’ve deserved a break for a moment.” He commented.

Q’s face once grew more sour and he jutted his chin up. “I’ll thank you to not tell me how to run my branch, 007.”

“I’ll thank you to not tear all of bloody MI6 apart just because you’re having a bad day.”

“Piss off.” But the barb had no fight in it, underneath the heated exterior it was nothing more than a lover fearing for his other half’s safety and maybe this was why James didn’t want to push him any farther. It was a strange thing to have someone waiting at home for him to return, someone to worry after him and wonder what it is he was doing.

Whenever he went on missions usually the pair would exchange light e-mails along the lines of _‘How are things?’ ‘Fine, not dead.’ ‘Good, see you ‘round.’_ Romanticism wasn’t something Bond could string out over long periods of time, it usually worked pretty well for one night stands when extracting information from wiley women but Q was impervious to his charms and usually saw right through the bullshit. This made him simultaneously the most refreshing and frustrating companion he’d had for a long while yet.

But everyone knew the gravity of the coming mission, they knew that there was a good chance some of them might not make it back and replacements were training just a level below them in the event others needed to be called in. It was the name of the game but Q hadn’t been playing for very long. He didn’t want to talk about it either, content to scowl his was through breakfast and curse when his jumper got tangled up whilst slipping it over his head. Feelings, it seemed, were not his forte. They weren’t 007s either and he didn’t pry because no doubt this would’ve earned him a withering glare and further silence.

Sitting on Q’s desk all he wanted to do was take his hand but he didn’t, instead he stood up and walked straight out and went downstairs to shoot guns until his trigger finger cramped up and maybe then it would be time to go back up and get his gear handed to him. It was those eyes he hated to stare at because while his lover’s face was hard and nasty the eyes looked like they were hiding back so much worry and sadness Bond would drown if he ventured too deep within.

The proceedings were quiet, Q refused to look at him, he had someone else give him his things and he had another labcoat to get him up to date. He noticed that one of the items was an exploding pen and he smiled faintly to himself. M watched over and when all was said and done he watched the agents disperse to get ready for the flight in a few hours, the only ones left standing in place were 007 and Q, trying to look anywhere but each other.

Eve didn’t see Q or Bond for a long while and when a lesser 00 needed further information on a gun a bewildered M asked her if she could maybe procure the Quartermaster to answer her questions as he had personally designed the weapon.

She didn’t know where they had gone but had she been paying attention she would’ve known that they were currently sitting down in a less frequented tunnel, a cigarette dangling from Bond’s mouth while Q leaned his chin on his shoulder. They weren’t talking, god no they definitely weren’t talking but there was a definite calm in the air as ever so often James would drag his fag and blow the smoke heavenward, pressing his lips to Q’s forehead. Their hands were tangled and Bond didn’t mind in the least that his new suit was getting dirty.

“I don’t have the time or the funds for your funeral, I hope you know that.” Q murmured after a while.

“With all these budget cuts? Of course I know that.” Responded 007.

“Good, so the only solution would be not to die so I don’t have to throw your body in the Thames like we’re in the 1500s.” the Quartermaster said. Bond smirked, his rough thumb running over the smooth knuckles of his companion.

“Naturally, but the moment my funeral is guaranteed you should know I’ll be sneaking off to do myself in first chance I get.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it I suppose.”

This is how the secretary found them and when she walked down and stopped neither bothered to right themselves, Q’s eyes were closed as if he was trying to soak in as much as he could of 007 before his time to go came and Bond had lit up another cigarette to puff on while his cheek rested against the top of the Quartermaster’s head. “Can I help you?” James questioned after a few moments, glancing over to her.

She could’ve told them that Q was needed back, ending this moment, one of their last until Bond left for a very long time. That he needed to answer a stupid question about how a trigger worked that could be answered on the way to the airport. She could’ve said that, and cut short the last of their time but instead she shook her head soundlessly. “Oh, no I was just walking, sorry for interrupting.”

Eve knew that James understood the thoughts that had just run through her head, and he seemed grateful for her final decision. With a slight nod she left them there and told M she thought maybe Q had left to get coffee and would be back shortly.

Twenty minutes later a slightly red eyed but still waspish Q emerged and then five minutes after so did a melancholy Bond. They did not look at each other once until it was time for the agents to leave and Eve could’ve sworn in the bustle she saw 007 press his lips against Q’s for a fleeting second.

Just a second and then he was gone and Q went home early that day.


End file.
